


Yuletide Tales

by Bleed_Peroxide



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 12 Days of Banana Fish-Mas, Christmas Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Past Sexual Abuse, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleed_Peroxide/pseuds/Bleed_Peroxide
Summary: When winter chills the bones and snow blankets the ground, a bastion of warmth can be found in the hearts and arms of one's companions.Pure indulgence, y'all. Just pure fluff and indulgence.[Completed as part of the #12dobfmas fanwork challenge on Twitter.]





	1. Fireplace

“Do you and Monsieur have any plans for the evening?” 

Ash looked up from his textbook, blinking against the waning sunlight in the room. He’d spent hours pouring over Cyrillic letters and Russian grammar, perched on the window sill overlooking lush gardens now blanketed in snow. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t noticed how the bright afternoon sunlight had faded as the sun sank into the horizon - the room was now dyed in shades of amber, as though stained with bourbon. 

Blanca leaned against the wall next to him, the languid relaxation in his arms completely at odds with his typical perfect posture. Eyeing the man’s attire - a simple fitted black shirt with stone-washed jeans, paired with a brown wool coat - Ash felt his curiosity piqued. His teacher usually wore loose-fitting clothing if they were doing physically intensive training, or expensive, custom-tailored dress shirts and overcoats if he was meeting with Dino to discuss god-knows-what behind closed doors. His current outfit made him look more like a college professor than a trained assassin, the type that would grade English papers with a steaming cup of tea and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

“So far as I know, no,” the blonde replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince - hours of bending over a book had left him with muscles screaming in pain. “He said he was going to one of his operas; he didn’t make me go with him this time, thank god. ” 

Blanca chuckled at that. 

“Don’t suppose that opera is terribly enjoyable if you don’t understand-”

“I can  _understand_ just fine,” Ash interrupted sourly.  “I’m not a moron.” 

Raising his eyebrows in surprise at such an unexpectedly venomous reply, Blanca held his hands up in mock surrender and stated, “I meant no such thing. I simply was suggesting that it might be harder to appreciate certain art forms if you don’t speak the language.” 

“He made me learn French back when I was a kid - I can understand it fine. I just hate opera.” 

Blanca asked, “Fair enough, opera is an…. acquired taste. But I have to wonder why he’s insistent that I should teach you Russian if you’re already bilingual.” 

“So I’ll be ‘more useful’,” Ash replied bitterly, index and middle fingers making air quotes for emphasis. 

“I wonder about that,” the older man mused. “The way Monsieur discussed it, he made it seem as though you can’t speak French properly, even after all these years.” 

Without even realizing it, Ash rolled his eyes and snorted in disbelief. 

_That’s a load of bullshit,_ Ash thought to himself. Ash could speak it flawlessly - he was simply vindictive and took pleasure in the way Dino’s eye twitched when he used the “wrong” words. While Dino spoke in Corsican-flavored French, Ash’s dialect was spitefully Quebecois. The old bastard, as he’d come to learn, _hated_ hearing this particular dialect. 

On a subconscious level, speaking in a different dialect was an act of purification, cleansing him of the way the language had often made him feel like he had slime coated on his tongue. His first words had been taught to him by Dino himself, filthy invitations meant to be a titillating contrast to the angelic-looking face uttering them.  _Baise moi s'il te plait, monsieur._ French was  _fois gras_ forced down his throat, gluttonous and vile; he’d hated speaking it if he didn’t have to.

When his French teacher had shown him whimsical cartoons and musicals in the language, Ash had been amazed at how  _beautiful_ it could sound. He’d also discovered inadvertently that while he didn’t much care for opera, he had a fondness for musicals…. though he would sooner swallow his own tongue than admit that. 

It had been purely accidental when his French began to mirror what he watched for pleasure, but seeing how much Dino hated it only cemented his desire to keep using it. 

_That’s what you get for forcing your language down my throat, asshole._

“I seem to have said something amusing,” Blanca stated with a droll tone, interrupting Ash’s thoughts. 

“Tell me, Blanca: would you consider yourself fluent in a language, even if you don’t use the same hoity-toity accent as someone else?”

“ _L'habit ne fait pas le moine_ ,” Blanca replied, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Pretension doesn’t necessarily indicate understanding. Still…. I would have thought such pettiness beneath you.” 

“Of course it isn’t. I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll take what you can get, hmm? That does bring me back to my original question: did  _you_ have any particular plans for the evening? I would say it’s safe to assume you will stay here, in lieu of accompanying Monsieur to his performance.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Ash felt his spine stiffen with foreboding - Blanca never asked idle questions. “Yeah. And I’m assuming he asked _you_ to come here to play babysitter.” 

“He did not, actually. I decided that on my own.” 

Whatever plans Ash had been laying out shattered like glass at this simple statement. He couldn’t understand the reasoning for it - why would Blanca come to Ash of his own volition, waste his time here when he could while it away at some high-class bar? While Blanca was never so crass as to come to his nighttime lessons inebriated, Ash could tell from the way his coat sometimes smelled of wine and women’s perfume that Blanca had not left the leisurely pleasures of Caribbean retirement too far behind him. 

“We didn’t have any lessons planned, though,” Ash argued, trying (and failing) to keep an adolescent whine out of his voice. He cast a longing glance at the end of the table, where he’d placed his motivation for hours’ worth of studying - an obscenely tall glass of spiked eggnog and contraband comic books he’d borrowed from Shorter. Not the most extravagant reward, but it worked for him the same way one might dangle a bone over a mutt’s nose to convince it to walk. 

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” the man replied breezily, his serene smile at odds with the anxiety blooming in Ash’s chest.  _That’s not fair, that’s not fucking fair, can’t I just have one day-_

Seemingly unaware of the way the boy’s hands began with shake, he continued, “I figured, however, that as it _is_ Christmas Eve, that it wouldn’t do to make you spend it alone.” 

_Of course. Of course I can’t have one day where I’m not stuck learning a language, learning to shoot a gun, learning more war tactics, learning how to suck some politician’s cock, learning how to-_

“Can’t I just have a fucking night  _off_ for once?” 

Ash blinked at his own boldness - he hadn’t meant to blurt that out loud. His traitorous mouth could barely form the words around the lump in his throat, and to his humiliation, his eyes were burning with tears. Whether they were from anger or despair, he wasn’t entirely sure at this point. 

His own surprise was only eclipsed by Blanca’s, whose hand had frozen over one of the aforementioned comic books - presumably to thumb through the colored pages and sneer at it being childish. He scrutinized Ash with an unreadable expression, eyes flicking from the boy’s shaking hand to the way his lips pressed together in a tight line, a belated attempt to rein himself in. 

“Did you think I was intending to give you last minute lessons?” Blanca asked evenly, tone intentionally bland - Ash couldn’t glean what response he was expected to give, which made him even more nervous. He didn’t seem  _angry_ … but perhaps even more terrifyingly, he was displeased about something that Ash couldn’t understand. 

“Why else would you come here on Christmas Eve? You wouldn’t hang around unless it were important.” 

The corners of Blanca's lips turned down ever so slightly. It was the same rueful smile the man often wore when one of Ash’s verbal barbs managed to find a particularly tender spot. 

“I simply assumed you might enjoy company for the sake of it, given that Christmas Eve is generally spent among… pleasant company, for lack of a better term. I had no plans to _do_ anything beyond that. But I can also understand that you might want to be alone instead, or perhaps not find my company to be entirely pleasant.” He let out a small, self-effacing laugh. “If that’s the case, I certainly wouldn’t wish to spoil the day for you.” 

_Oh._

A small crack climbed up Ash’s heart, a few precious drops of warmth seeping into its icy core. 

When was the last time he’d actually enjoyed Christmas Eve with another person? It had been years, at the least. He usually dumped glass after glass of wine down his throat to ensure he couldn’t remember the night. Dino liked to drag him around New York in a tuxedo like a prized peacock. If he was lucky, he just had to sit there and look pretty as he sat through some boring play; if he was less fortunate, he was given away to potential business partners as a perverse Christmas bonus. 

Ash usually woke up on Christmas morning with a headache regardless. 

“I… I want you to stay, if that’s all it is,” Ash admitted, eyes glued to the floor. “But I have one condition if you do.” 

“Yes?” 

“I still wanna read my comics.” 

This time, a genuine laugh erupted from Blanca. “Of course. Let me just fix up the fireplace - call me old-fashioned, but Christmas Eve doesn’t quite feel the same without it.” 

Ash gathered his comics in his arms, grabbing his precious cup of eggnog at the last second before marching over the couch. He set the books and drink on the coffee table in front of it, and set to work making himself a nest of pillows and blankets at the corner for maximum comfort. 

Once he was satisfied, Ash draped a knit blanket over his shoulders and tucked his knees against his chest, leaning forward to grab his drink and take a long sip. It burned deliciously on the way down, heat trickling into his stomach and seeming to bleed into his entire being, like a drop of ink spreading through water. 

He knew that it wasn’t just the alcohol. Though he felt foolish for it, Ash felt utterly relaxed in a way he couldn't remember feeling for… well, for a while, the longer that he considered it. Simple as this was, he still felt as though it were almost too luxurious, just sitting here with a roaring fireplace and bundled up with blankets, pillows, a savory drink…

…and a man he admired, that he  _trusted_ ; someone that had chosen to spend his time with Ash simply because he felt Ash might want him there. Ash knew by now that, thank god, Blanca didn’t want anything out of him that he didn’t want to provide. 

Eyeing the eggnog cradled in Ash’s slender fingers, Blanca simply stated, “Make sure you don't spill it on the couch. Even I can’t spare you Dino’s wrath if you ruin his precious cushions.” 

Despite the stern words, there was a note of amusement in the man’s voice that made Ash smile. Blanca found Dino’s vulgar displays of wealth just as distasteful as Ash, though he would only remark on it with a slight curl to his lip and the politely detached observation that Dino had “a rather absurd compulsion to select the most expensive interpretations of commonplace objects”. 

“I’m not a kid,” Ash retorted, though there was no real bite in his words. 

Blanca regarded the boy with a fond smile that gently tugged at something buried deep, deep within Ash’s chest. 

“Of course not.” 

With that, Blanca settled himself next to Ash on the sofa, a simple crimson hardback novel in his hand. The man flipped through a few of the pages before settling on one seemingly at random - as far as Ash could tell, he hadn’t dog-eared the corner of the page nor used a bookmark. Curious as to what Blanca was reading, Ash squinted at the golden lettering on the cover and realized it was in Cyrillic. He could recognize a few of the characters, but not enough to really understand it. 

“What does the cover say?” he asked. 

“ _Gorbun iz Notr-Dama_ ,” Blanca recited, the words flowing from his lips elegantly - it sounded far more coarse when Ash tried to speak it. “In English, I think you would call it _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. In French-”

“ _Notre Dame de Paris_ ,” Ash finished, unable to temper the excitement that bubbled up in him - despite his pretense at casual interest, his heart performed a joyful little back-flip like a child. “My French teacher showed me the musical as a kid. They ended up having it in a bunch of languages. The Russian dude that did Frollo actually ripped his shirt on stage.” 

“Now, isn’t that a lucky coincidence,” Blanca mused, the knowing smile tugging on his lips indicating that it was likely anything but. “That’d be an effective way to help you practice - and I think you’ll find it more palatable than what the textbook suggests for listening comprehension.” 

Ash simply nodded and took another sip from his eggnog, not sure how to really articulate with the proper words how much such a small gesture meant. 

For all that he was treated like a man when it was convenient, he more often felt like a small boy that had tried pulling on countless men’s sleeves, desperate for someone to at least _look_ at him properly. Most men were seemingly amazed that Dino’s pretty little doll could string together more than a monosyllable or two. Blanca was the first one to kneel down to his level and actually _listen,_ rather than simply smiling indulgently at the ramblings of a child. 

As Ash settled in, he found himself drawing on Blanca’s training and paying more attention to his surroundings. The drawing room was warm but not stiffing, a welcome reprieve from the snow outside. He also picked up on the soft music that drifted into the air, a jazzy duet of saxophone and piano that he could recognize as the melody of “Greensleeves”, mingled with the steady crackle of the fireplace before them. His mind was pleasantly fuzzy as the liquor began to kick in - not enough to leave him sick the next day, but enough to make his eyelids sag and his head gravitate to his chest. 

He was reminded of the times he had stayed up late with Griffin on Christmas Eve, watching a holiday movie and waiting for Santa to make his yearly visit. “I’ll meet him this year, for sure!” Ash would proclaim loudly, but only after begging Griffin to let him stay up past his curfew. 

Without fail, he always ended up curling into Griffin’s side and dozing off, the mixture of hot cocoa and his brother’s calloused hand threading through his hair putting him to sleep within minutes. The next morning, he’d find a half-eaten plate of cookies and thank you note. The handwriting bore a remarkable similarity to his brother’s messy chicken scratch.

Blanca’s words came back to him - “Christmas Eve is generally spent among pleasant company.” 

How long, how achingly  _long_ had it been since he’d known what that felt like? 

“Thank you, Blanca,” Ash murmured, finding himself burrowing into the warmth of Blanca’s arm at his side. He hoped that his tone could convey far more than those two simple words could. 

A solid hand rustled his hair affectionately - one that he didn't feel the knee-jerk reaction to slap away. 

“My pleasure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I juuuuust barely made it for Day 3 of #12dobfmas fanwork challenge, and I’ll admit I feel it’s not as good as I’d like it to be. I'm working on this on top of Halcyon Days and the BF Secret Santa, because apparently I need another WIP in my life. Then again, I’m sure all writers are never fully satisfied with their work! I just wanted to write some soft interactions between Blanca and Ash - I love their dynamic, especially the way Private Opinion shapes it, and I wish we’d seen more of his training years with Blanca. This fic is purely self-indulgent as a result, but I hope you’ll enjoy it regardless. 
> 
> For anyone curious, [this is the version of “Greensleeves” mentioned](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVL3wb1yVm8). It’s a staple of my childhood holiday memories. <3


	2. Lights

New York was always so bitterly cold in the winter, even for someone that had spent his childhood in Massachusetts. The streets were a brutal parent for children without the luxury of a place to stay; it was not uncommon to wake up one morning and find some unfortunate soul frozen to a telephone pole, eyes closed for good in icy slumber. 

But even as he had huddled around a literal dumpster fire, rubbing his chapped hands briskly, Ash had marveled at the way the city’s monochromatic hues softened around Christmas, almost as if the monolith took pity on its most desperate. Snow covered the streets in a way that reminded him of icing on sugar cookies ( _probably_ _because you’re starving_ , Ash had chided himself), and there was something magical about the contrast of green holly and multicolored lights that lent beauty to otherwise prosaic architecture. 

From his gilded cage in Dino’s mansion, Ash had always stared longingly at the world beyond his window, at trees covered in lights and the storefronts festooned in all manner of holiday decorations. Even if his muscles ached and his mind was weary, there was a certain comfort to the innocence of these displays. When the lights blinked to a jovial rhythm and the air carried the fragrances of wassail and pine, it was easy to forget seeing that same spot stained crimson and reeking of blood weeks before.

Even after Ash had long since traded his pampered prison for a rundown apartment, he still found himself greeting the first day of December with bated breath, waiting for the Christmas lights to turn on for the first time. He had found himself making a ritual of it every year: fixing a mug of cocoa with an obscene layer of marshmallows on top, watching for the first lights blink to life with a vigilance he typically reserved for scouting enemy’s movements. 

It would figure that Eiji would catch him staring out the window. 

“Would you like to see them?” Eiji had asked with a knowing smile. His slim fingers were just barely visible from the sleeve of his over-sized sweater - he looked almost like a child, his frame all but swallowed up by cable-knit wool. 

Words ran through Ash’s mind, more abstract flashes of sentiment -  _so cute, too soft_ \- rather than concrete thoughts. He had to resist the impulse to gather the boy in his arms and embrace him tight, to drink him in. There was such  _yearning_ that overcame him every time Eiji’s eyes squinted just so when he smiled. It made him oddly dizzy and heated, as though drunk on mulled wine. 

Ash refused to use the word “love” \- the moment he did, he might as well have painted a target on Eiji’s forehead. But his traitorous heart still skipped in his chest when Eiji touched him, or looked him with far more tenderness than he deserved. 

“I can see them just fine from here,” Ash answered, sipping on his hot cocoa. He tilted his cup to coax a marshmallow to drift over to the edge, fishing it out with his tongue. 

“But have you seen them up close? It is far different that way - more beautiful, almost like magic,” Eiji replied dreamily, chin resting on his palm. 

He tilted his head in that way that made Ash’s knees turn to jelly. A lethal expression, he already knew the question on Eiji’s tongue before he’d even asked. 

“You’re welcome to go, Eiji. Just make sure you bring one of the guys with you. It’s not safe to just wander around at night.” 

“I wasn’t…. I mean…. they are nice, and I like them. But I…” At this, Eiji’s voice faltered, and he bit his lip as though unsure of how to voice his next statement.

“But you…?” 

“I was hoping I could go with…. just you.” 

“….are you asking me on a date to see the lights?” 

Eiji’s cheeks flushed scarlet as the realization of what he’d just said caught up with him, and whatever excitement that had lit up his eyes before was gone as the boy’s gaze fluttered to the ground. His lips parted with a protest that seemed to die midway up his throat, attempting to articulate some half-formed thought before stopping himself within the same breath. 

Fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves, as though unsure of what to do with his hands, Eiji settled for laughing weakly. There was no mirth in it, though, and the sound was so self-effacing that Ash’s heart clenched. Eiji arranged his expression into a so-called smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; for the first time since they’d met, the sight of seeing Eiji “smile” made Ash feel sick. 

“I guess that was a silly thing to ask, of course, you-”

“-would love to,” Ash blurted out, blinking in surprise at the fervency of his reply. Eiji seemed similarly stunned, but at least he’d stopped fingering the loose threads of his sweater as though hoping to unravel it. 

Clearing his throat, Ash met Eiji’s eyes and reiterated, “It’s not silly. I’d love to.” 

He noticed that Eiji hadn’t refuted the word “date”; he wasn’t sure if it was simply the language barrier or something more promising, but he wasn’t about to ruin it. Even if Eiji didn’t consider it a date, Ash could entertain the illusion of it being one. 

“Really?” 

“Of course. Grab your coat, let’s go while the going’s good.” 

The Japanese boy’s response was the beatific smile of an angel.

* * *

Wandering through the glimmering lights of Central Park, Ash resisted the urge to pinch his arm. 

He felt as though he had stumbled into a dream -  _but if I am,_ Ash prayed to whatever deaf gods might be listening,  _let me enjoy it just a bit longer._ He had a steaming cup of wassail nestled into his palms, the heat of it a welcome change from the biting cold that usually accompanied his excursions into the winter nights. It also helped that, this time around, he had a heavy woolen scarf and coat to insulate him against the chill. Strategically hidden speakers tucked into tree branches or lamp posts serenaded the meandering crowd with the classic repertoire of Christmas carols; though Ash typically found the songs sickeningly saccharine, he felt charmed rather than annoyed with the sentimentality of them. 

Much of that, he felt, had to do with the man pressed into his side, obsidian eyes glittering with childlike wonder. His head was on a constant swivel, as though afraid to miss a single thing; Eiji would tug on Ash’s sleeve, pointing at a particular tree with contagious awe. 

“It’s so pretty,” Eij sighed, eyes tracing lights dangling from the branches like icicles. 

“They are,” Ash agreed, though his eyes remained fixated on the entrancing sight before him. 

No matter how beautiful the scenery might have been, he found himself memorizing the way Eiji’s cheeks flushed prettily with the cold, how his eyes reflected the lights in a way that made Ash’s breath catch in his throat. Eiji had pressed himself into Ash’s side, both hands clinging to his arm as though afraid to lose him in the sea of people. Though Ash  _knew_ it was practicality that kept his hands on Ash’s arm, that it was instinct to seek out another’s body heat…. it still made Ash’s heart flutter happily in his chest.

If he wrapped an arm around Eiji’s waist, surely it could pass as a logical, platonic gesture. 

If he pressed his lips into Eiji’s hair, breathing in the way it always smelled vanilla and lavender…. surely Eiji would read it as teasing, rather than affectionate. 

…Right? 

“You’re not even looking at the lights,” Eiji chided him, interrupting Ash from his reverie. There was a curious shyness to Eiji’s tone, rather than the accusation Ash had anticipated from being caught red-headed staring at him. 

Meeting Eiji’s gaze, it was like being caught in a spell. The man’s eyes were half-cast, simmering with a frank…. a frank  _hunger_ that had Ash swallowing against the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

Eiji licked his lips unconsciously, and not for the first time, Ash thought back to the kiss back at the prison. Even if it’d been a perfunctory gesture, it’d been enough to make Ash wonder, to desire. It had been enough to make him want to pull Eiji into his arms and kiss him  _properly_ \- not in a cold, concrete prison under the watchful eyes of others, with a bitter capsule on his tongue and a thousand back-up plans clattering in his skull. 

“I-I’m easily distracted, I guess,” Ash answered breathlessly. 

“Why?” Eiji asked. It was an unspoken challenge, testing the waters. 

He felt as though he were balanced on the edge of a cliff by the sea - already his mind was screaming at him to lie, to give them both a reason to avoid taking a leap into the watery depths below. Would they fall recklessly into the unknown? Would their bodies shatter upon the rocks with a miscalculated jump? 

Would Eiji even jump with him at all? 

It would have been easier to simply lie. He  _would_ have…. had he not seen the naked yearning in Eiji’s eyes.

It was like Eiji was reaching out his hand. 

“Because all I could think about was wanting to kiss you again,” Ash admitted, fingers delicately tracing the curve of Eiji’s face before resting at his chin. “A proper one. Not like at the prison.” 

“Then what is stopping you?” Eiji answered, voice whisper-soft. He lifted his chin to meet Ash’s gaze, lips parted as though in invitation. He must have seen the way Ash hesitated, the way the other’s hand trembled ever so slightly against his skin. 

“Ash, I…” 

Tipping Eiji’s face up gently, Ash answered his unfinished question and captured the lips that had fascinated him for so long. 

They were just as soft as he remembered, just as yielding to the languid way Ash brushed his lips against them. When Ash ran his tongue lightly along the seam of Eiji’s lips, he surrendered so sweetly to Ash’s touch, opening to him like a flower drinking in sunlight. 

A small sound like a whimper escaped the boy as a pair of hands pulled at the lapels of Ash’s jacket, drawing them impossibly closer. It sent a jolt of heat down Ash’s spine; he knew he’d be replaying it in his head for days. 

Eiji pulled away from Ash just enough to break the kiss, lips maybe a breath away. There was a satisfying haziness in his eyes, and Ash knew from the way his own head felt slightly dizzy that he must have looked equally delirious. 

“I feel like I’m in a dream,” Eiji murmured, resting his forehead against Ash’s chest. “I’m just…” 

Pressing his lips against the part in Eiji’s hair, Ash replied, “Well... if we're dreaming, let's both agree to not wake up. Not yet.” 

He gave himself a light pinch on the arm, feeling a flicker of happiness when the touch was met with a soft sting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired partly by this [this lovely fanart](https://twitter.com/sour_nya/status/1064426184316903424?s=12&fbclid=IwAR0nKHy2hL2Dx8QBXRFymSHFe4L2Kn0cMeuy2UBP8F0eKsJlrkNTjoNr3wM)
> 
> A small note regarding Eiji's mannerisms and speech: though this is set in the anime timeline (meaning Mohawk!Shorter and cellphones), a lot of my characterization of Eiji comes from his manga incarnation. He speaks in broken English in the manga, which would have felt racist to replicate; instead, I've tweaked it to the careful, precise diction most of us tend to have if we're speaking a language we're not fluent in.
> 
> He's also far cheekier in the manga and sassy as hell, which is a delight.


	3. Hot Cocoa

Ash checked his shopping list again, finger tapping on the ingredients before he glanced in his basket to ensure that the corresponding item was present.   
  
Whole milk - _check_. 

Multiple bars of chocolate -  _check_. 

Cream -  _check_. 

Ground cinnamon -  _check_. 

Smiling to himself, the blond couldn’t help but find Eiji’s bubbly script endearing. In addition to the carefully written Latin letters, the note was littered with cartoonish expressions - a shocked face next to the quantity of chocolate required, or a mischievous smile next to the word  _cream._

It shouldn’t have shocked him - Eiji was the type of person whose texts were most concerning when they  _didn’t_ have emoticons sprinkled all over them. Of course Eiji wouldn’t just give him a damn shopping list without doodling all over it…. in alternating red and green ink, no less. 

Ash had…. attempted to convince Eiji to do something simpler, something that wouldn’t take an hour to do. Key word being  _attempted_. 

“It takes twice as long when you have to keep switching pens, Eiji,” he’d explained, as though to a petulant child. “Just finish the stupid thing so I go shopping. You’re such a kid, I swear.” 

“And you are a Grinch,” Eiji retorted. “You even look the part.” 

Ash had glanced down at his sweater to prove him wrong, but indeed, it was a rather vivid emerald hue. Not spot-on, but enough for Eiji to look utterly pleased with himself as he noticed Ash’s grimace and telling silence. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Ash finally griped, to which Eiji’s shit-eating grin only widened. 

“I did not say anything.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Turning his eyes back to his burgeoning masterpiece, Eiji waved Ash off and said, “If you are that bored, go read a newspaper. I want it to look nice.” 

Ash let out an exasperated sigh. 

“It’s a _shopping list_ , Eiji, not the Sistene Chapel. It doesn’t have to ‘look nice.’ And I’d really like to get this done before everything closes. I don’t know it works in Japan, but places here generally close earlier in the winter.” 

“It is only six o’clock.” 

“Have you looked outside? The sun set an hour ago.” 

Glancing out the window, Eiji let out a small sound of surprise and laughed sheepishly. 

“I was-” 

“-busy with your arts and crafts project. I know.” 

Eiji threw him an look that he must have imagined to look like a withering glare. Instead, the way it made his cheeks puff out reminded Ash more of a pissed-off kitten with a bushy tail, desperate to look large and terrifying. 

Patting Eiji on the head, Ash pocketed the list in Eiji’s hand and said with exaggerated sweetness, “I’ll be home soon, _honey_ \- be sure to have dinner ready!” 

He’d barely closed the door before hearing someone hissing “asshole!” behind the wood, followed by irritable stomping and pots being removed noisily from the cabinets. It was all theater, of course - if Eiji really meant it, Ash wouldn’t have heard the quiet sound of cookware placed gently on the granite counter-top. He’d listened to Eiji cooking in the apartment enough times to recognize what and how he was cooking based on sound. 

Glancing back at Eiji’s list as he wandered through the aisles, he had to admit that there was a certain… _charm_ to it. 

The only problem was that in addition to his schoolgirl scribbles, Eiji had also added what he must have imagined to be helpful little blurbs along the margins, complete with little arrows and even  _more_ faces to convey nuance to these asides. 

It would have been helpful if Ash knew how the hell to read Japanese. Or if he had more than passing familiarity with metric. He could have converted imperial to metric, but it was easier to just toss a bunch of Godiva bars into the basket and hope that a dozen were enough for whatever “100 grams” constituted. He brought the paper closer to his face, squinting at it as though proximity might somehow lend clarity to the foreign script. 

His thoughts were temporarily derailed as he picked up on a bizarre scent, some unholy mixture of cherry and peppermint that made his nose wrinkle in disgust. It was an intensely  _sweet_ smell that promised artificial dyes, artificial flavors, and that not one bit of actual fruit was present. 

_What the fuck?_

Ash glanced at his basket and the sleeves of his sweater, wondering if he’d spilled something on himself without realizing - and noticed that he had managed to smear red and green ink on his fingers. It was ink from the letter, because of course Eiji had insisted on using glittery gel pens that took an decade or so to actually dry. 

He had a hunch. Ash brought a stained finger to his nose, sniffing at it curiously. And then let out an exasperated sigh as the puzzle piece slid into place. 

_Scented gel pens, Eiji? Really?_

“Move along, honey. Don’t talk to strange men. You don’t know where those fingers have been.” 

Whipping his head around at the sound of the voice, Ash saw a woman with mousy hair and spectacles just  _staring_ at him. She had her arm cradled around the waif of a girl next to her protectively, as though afraid someone might try to snatch her. 

Ash tried to imagine what it must have looked like: a teenage boy with a heavy coat, clutching a letter in vivid ink and what might as well have been hieroglyphs, sniffing intensely at crimson fingertips as though they held the secrets to finding the holy grail. 

He probably looked like a goddamn lunatic. No wonder she was glaring at him like he might rob her. 

That was his cue to get the hell out. So far as most people knew, he was supposed to be dead - and he  _knew_ that his mug had been plastered all over the TV a few months ago. He couldn’t afford risking her recognizing him. 

He dropped the fruits of his labors on the counter, a sliver of anxiety threading its into his heart as the cashier rung up his items. Eiji hadn’t really specified if he had a preference for one brand over another - well, not in a way he could understand - so Ash figured that he might as well get the most expensive ones.  _Quality prevails, when all else fails._

The poor boy would probably have a heart attack if he knew the price of his spur-of-the-moment idea. Judging from the way his cashier’s eyes widened a bit at the final figure, he wondered vaguely if he’d maybe bought a bit too much. 

“Better to have too much than not enough, right?” he quipped, thumbing through a wad of bills and trying to ignore the way she stared all the while. Was it  _really_ that weird to carry cash? 

Agreeing with that polite Retail Laugh, she fed the money into the till and fished around the drawers for change. 

“That’s enough for a small army. I think that’ll last you the rest of the winter.” 

“You’d be surprised. My boyfriend practically lives in the kitchen, he’s constantly trying to feed people,” Ash answered with a proud smile. Eiji could bitch as much as he wanted that he wasn’t a maid, but he sure enjoyed fussing around and making sure everyone had a homemade meal. 

It was only when the cashier’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly that he belatedly realized the word he’d used with disconcerting ease. Or the fact that it had felt so instinctive, so  _right_ , falling from his lips. It was as though the bottom had been cut out of his stomach - he realized that no matter how much he adored the sentimental idiot in his apartment, they  _weren’t_ dating, they  _weren’t_ boyfriends, they  _weren’t-_

“My wife is the same way,” the cashier said with a shy smile, raising her left hand just enough to show the modest wedding band on her ring finger. “Kind of funny how that works out. One _has_ to be able to cook since the other’s completely useless in the kitchen. It’s like a rule with us, y’know?” 

_With us_. It was only two words, but there was the same feeling in them as a gentle nudge in the side, a knowing wink -  _people like us, one of us._ He sampled it with relish, savoring how sweet and natural it was - not a bitter utterance, a self-inflicted curse, but a cherished bond. 

People like him, people that felt similar things to what he felt for Eiji… 

“I guess so,” he mused aloud. “Folks… _like us_ , always seem to have a way of finding one another.” 

* * *

Eiji had reacted more or less like Ash had anticipated he would when he got back. 

“Ash, that is way more than we need for hot chocolate!” 

“I wasn’t sure how much you needed.” 

“It was on the list, I-”

“-wrote it all in  _metric_ .” 

Eiji pressed his lips in a thin line, though Ash wasn’t sure if it was to rein in a laugh or keep himself from saying something exceptionally sarcastic. Judging from the way they kept twitching, probably a combination of both. He’d made his thoughts known on a few occasions about Americans and their stubborn refusal to use metric. 

He settled for putting his hands on Ash’s shoulders, turning him around forcefully and pushing him towards the living room. 

“I can’t cook with you standing over my shoulder like that. Find something for us to watch, make yourself useful.”

Leaning against the counter, Ash crossed his arms across his chest. 

“You sure you don’t want any help? I feel bad just sitting on my ass while you’re toiling around back here.” Though part of him enjoyed the warm domesticity of Eiji moving around his…  _their_ kitchen with such familiarity, he felt a twinge of guilt at the idea of propping up his feet and relaxing while Eiji slaved away at the stove. It brought to mind images of his father chugging can after can of beer in the living room, drinking himself into oblivion while one of his current bed-warmers cleaned around him. 

However, Eiji only let a soft laugh, achingly sweet in a way that reminded Ash of church bells. 

“It is only hot chocolate. It takes a bit longer than the powder, but it is not hard to make. But I can’t concentrate with you standing there just… _watching_ like that.” 

“Why? Do I make you  _nervous_ ?” Ash purred, and to his amusement, Eiji’s cheeks bloomed with the beginnings of a satisfying blush. He was so easy to fluster. 

“When you look at me like… like what you’re doing now, yes. It makes me feel like you are mocking me and I don’t know why.” 

_I’m not mocking you - it's because you're too pretty for your own good. I can't help but stare._

Ash was almost amazed at how oblivious Eiji was. He truly had no idea about any of it:  the things he made Ash feel, made him think, what words Ash _wished_ he could for the nebulous thing between the two of them. 

“I can’t help it,” Ash answered instead, ruffling Eiji’s hair affectionately. “You look adorable in an apron - you’ll make someone a great housewife.” 

Eiji dipped his fingers in the cream and flicked it at Ash’s face. 

“Stop saying embarrassing things and let me work! Shoo!” 

“Yes, dear,” Ask replied in a dry tone, dancing out of the way of another retaliatory cream flick as he made his way to the living room. 

Grabbing a thick maroon blanket thrown haphazardly on the sofa, Ash draped it over his shoulders ( _like_ _a superhero cape_ , he thought with childish glee) and settled onto the sofa. He turned on the TV and flicked idly through the channels. None of the movies really seemed to appeal to him, largely because he’d seen them enough to have grown sick of them. There was one with a talking skeleton hijacking the holiday, and he’d rather liked the songs… but he always found it more of a Halloween movie, given the hero declaring himself the P-Pumpkin Ki- 

_Fuck this._

He refused to be spooked in December. He continued flipping through channels. 

He also didn’t have the foggiest idea which, if  _any_ , of these Eiji would like. His tastes were utterly unpredictable and bordered on the bizarre - he would watch anything from detailed documentaries about crafting glass eyes, to afternoon talk shows involving cheating partners and paternity tests. He especially seemed to like those. 

Ash must have taken longer than he’d realized, for he felt a gentle tap in his shoulder what felt like only a few minutes later. Looking up, he saw the beaming smile and steaming mug of hot chocolate presented to him with something akin to reverence. 

_Considering this is a $20 mug of cocoa, I don’t blame him._

“Trouble making a decision?” Eiji asked, to which Ash nodded his head.

“Seen ‘em all already, and I don’t really know if you have these movies over there.” 

Eiji ruffled his hand through Ash’s hair, mimicking him own taunt from before. 

“I’m  _Japanese_ , Ash, not an alien. We can translate your work just as you translate ours. It is not difficult.” 

With that, he gently blew on his hot chocolate before taking a sip. He closed his eyes happily, which Ash took as his cue to sample his own mug. 

He could immediately see why Eiji had insisted on doing it this way. While he didn’t feel that he was too good to drink the kind that came in powder form, there was no comparing it to the decadence and complex flavor that came from melting chocolate, cream, and milk into a thick beverage. He thought he even tasted hints of cinnamon as well. Peeking into the cup, he saw that Eiji had indeed made a small happy face out of ground cinnamon. 

The pleasure must have been evident on his face, for Eiji looked up from his cup and asked with a proud little grin, “Good, right? It’s worth spending more time to make it this way.” He poked at the flat plane of his stomach before adding a bit sheepishly, “But maybe not every day. It is nothing but fat and sugar - delicious, but not very healthy.” 

“You don’t drink hot chocolate because it’s  _healthy_ ,” the blonde chuckled. 

“No, but it _is_ my job to make sure that you stay healthy.” 

“I don’t remember hiring you.” Despite the teasing tone in both their voices, there was an undeniable sincerity in Eiji’s words that made Ash’s heart feel like it was melting in his chest. 

Then again, Eiji had a way of making the iciest parts of his heart thaw into something more raw and vulnerable. It made him feel terrifyingly tender, as though his nerves were far too close to the surface; small and thoughtful gestures like a carefully crafted grocery list or a smile made out of seasoning in his hot cocoa made him want to sob with something akin to relief. He’d been so grateful that, for once, the red staining his fingertips had been fucking cherry-scented ink rather than blood that made him reek of pennies and salt long after he’d scrubbed it off. 

He couldn’t understand why Eiji - someone this pure, this impossibly  _good_ \- spent so much of this on  _him_ , of all people. It felt like being wrapped in love, in affection - soft, sweet, and god, so  _warm._

The word “love” made him pause, but… well. He’d already outed his feelings to a perfect stranger, perhaps because he was still too terrified to verbalize them to Eji.

_Folks like us always seem to have a way of finding one another._

Seeing the way Eiji shivered lightly against the cold, Ash took a portion of the blanket and draped it across Eiji’s trembling frame. Almost by instinct, it seemed, Eiji readjusted himself on the couch and curled into the cocoon made by the blanket and Ash’s arm. He didn’t seem to have the same nervousness about physical proximity and propriety that Ash did - indeed, even through the fabric of his sweater, he could feel the way Eiji’s body heat trickled into him. 

The boy’s silky hair tickled against Ash’s cheek, and he couldn’t help himself - tugging Eiji just a bit closer to him, he pressed a kiss on the crown of his head.  _Too much, too much_ , his heart seemed to say. But greedy, gluttonous man that he was, he felt he would never truly have enough of it. 

_Sometimes in the ev'ning when you do not see  
_ _I study the small things you do constantly  
_ _I memorize moments that I'm fondest of  
_ _My cup runneth over with love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a day late, but I just had just to indulge myself. Regarding "my cup runneth over" - simply put, the Bing Crosby version of this has a very Christmas-like vibe to me. But I will give credit where it is due:[this lovely and soft fanart](https://twitter.com/Serya_chan/status/1070451250196549633) by Serya_chan inspired me greatly; I hope I did it justice. <3


End file.
